Chapter 14

It's 6pm – almost a full 24 hours since Anna literally went off the radar.

I march through MI13's green glass headquarters by the River Thames, a building that gives off far too many Empharma vibes for me to be comfortable. I'm pissed. Dr. Grey's memories are a shit stain on my mind, and though Anna had spared me the worst of it, I can still taste the blood on my mouth and feel the world tunnelling in all around me. That Anna had to go through this, that she had to suffer all over again... That she had to see herself as Subject Zero once more, through the eyes of a man she destroyed... It leaves me burning in the most impotent way. She's suffered enough. Her sense of guilt will fuel her crusade to save Logan, even if she sacrifices herself. But she doesn't deserve this. Not anymore.

I set my jaw as I storm towards Wisdom's office, cursing the fact that Essex's cold, dead hand just keeps on reaching out from beyond the grave.

The thought consumes me as I barge through the door that leads to Wisdom's suite of rooms. His secretary, a curly-haired young woman in her late-twenties, looks up from behind her work station, startled.

"Mr. Lord!" she exclaims. "You're early... Your appointment isn't due for another half hour..."

I ignore her, marching past her desk and towards Wisdom's inner sanctum.

"Mr. Lord!" she calls agitatedly after me. "Mr. Lord, you can't go in there! Mr. Wisdom is not seeing visitors right now!"

I can hardly hear her, I'm that incensed. She seems to realise it, and I'm aware of her coming out from behind her desk and stalking right after me, hell-bent on beating me to my intended destination.

"Fuck Wisdom!" I seethe at her. "He's gonna see me whether he likes it or not."

The woman makes a noise in the back of her throat, a frustrating, choking little growl; but I ignore her. I'm pissed as hell, and no one's gonna stop me from havin' words with Mr. Slick here.

I barge through the frosted glass doors and into his office just as the secretary catches up to me – not fast enough clearly. Wisdom's behind his desk, a cup of coffee raised to his lips, paused almost comically mid-action as I make my entrance.

"We need to talk, Wisdom," I blast at him. He barely looks put out. He calmly places the cup back in its saucer, and the secretary takes the moment to make her apologies.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Wisdom," she flusters. "I just… he wouldn't listen… he wouldn't stop, and I—"

"It's fine, Jules," he cuts her off, unperturbed. "Don't worry about it. Close the door."

She glances at me like I'm something offensive – not an expression I'm used to from women, I have to admit, although Raven gave me a run for my money – and obediently shuts the door behind me.

We're alone, and Wisdom looks me up and down like I'm some couyon student in the principal's office.

"Mr. Lord," he says. "If you'd just waited for your appointment…"

"Fuck your appointment," I toss back belligerently. "I ain't gon' wait for you to fit me inta your busy schedule."

Wisdom calmly raises an eyebrow, before gesturing to the chair across the table.

"Will you take a seat?" he offers officiously – but I ain't in the mood for pleasantries.

"Non. Don't need no seat to say what I haveta say."

"Mr. Lord," he prods me dryly. "You're starting to sound dangerously… uncouth. You might want to calm yourself down and tell me what it is this is all about. Then we might be able to stop wasting one another's precious time."

I inwardly fume. This guy grates against me like nothin' else, and he knows it. I squash my temper with an effort.

"You know what I'm here about," I answer through grit teeth.

"I have an idea," he replies seriously. His right forefinger caresses the handle of the cup and he says, "I suppose this is about Ms. D'Ancanto."

I press my teeth together hard, reply: "She's missin'."

"Not missing, no," he answers serenely. "Not exactly."

"You lost track of her."

The words are accusing, barbed enough for Wisdom's eyes to narrow.

"We didn't lose track of her. In case you forget, it was Gavin & Lord that installed the tech to have her location monitored. Are you sure it was installed correctly?"

I almost explode at that, but I reign myself in at the last second.

"Your people vetted the tech, Wisdom. Don't fuck wit' me! She's been dark for 24 hours now, and you ain't done a fuckin' t'ing about it! She went off the grid within a few hours of landin' in the US, for Chrissakes! Is this usually how you treat lost operatives?!"

"Mr. Lord," Wisdom answers grimly. "She is not one of our operatives. She is a third-party contractor, not a government employee, and she's working strictly off the books. Protocols for the extraction of contracted employees on clandestine operations are… rather more complicated than I think you appreciate."

He's being irritatingly stern, obnoxiously condescending right now. I'm about to call him out on his BS, when a quick, soft knock on the door interrupts us, and suddenly the secretary's there again.

"Mr. Jacob Gavin is here to see you, Mr. Wisdom," she says.

"Of course he is," Wisdom sighs almost wearily, rubbing his forehead. "Show him in."

A second later and Jake storms in, two styrofoam cups of coffee steaming in his hand. He looks so pissed, his eyes are literally shooting daggers at me.

"That was a shitty stunt you pulled back there, LeBeau," he glowers at me. I shrug.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna sit around and wait for your appointment to come round like a good boy," I say pointedly. "We waste any more time, anythin' could happen to her in the meantime. I had to lose you. Nothin' personal, mon ami."

He scowls.

"I really think you're overreacting, Remy," he says. Oh, sure he does. But he don't know what I know.

"Agreed," Wisdom chimes in. "I'm fairly certain Ms. D'Ancanto is capable of taking care of herself – don't you?"

"She's more than capable," I return acidly. "Under normal circumstances."

Wisdom's instantly alert.

"What do you mean – 'normal circumstances'?"

"She isn't stable."

"No?" He still looks irritatingly unconcerned by all this. "She seemed perfectly stable when she left."

"That's because she's pretty damn good at seeming stable when she ain't," I growl. I walk over to the desk, slap both my hands on it, lean over him. "Lissen t' me, Wisdom. Those mem-chips – the ones belonging to Jean Grey – the ones that set off this whole chain of events with Logan. The ones that drove him insane. You wanna know why they did? Because what they recorded was Dr. Grey's death. Which both Logan and Marie had to experience when they 'faced with it. You've seen how it affected Logan. And I've seen how it's affected Marie. Tremors, nightmares, black-outs."

Wisdom is suddenly very quiet. He stares up at me, his lips pursed tight together.

"The bleed effect," he murmurs.

"Oui," I nod. "And you've sent her out there, without any backup, without any means of contactin' us. She's sick. She could jeopardise the mission."

"And is that what you think's happened?" he asks me outright.

I let out a sharp breath.

"I don't know," I admit the thing I don't want to. "And none of us will, till you send someone out there to extract her."

Wisdom is quiet a long moment, looking first at Jake, then at me. After a second, he stands and walks to the window.

"The bleed effect entails an inability to separate from one's own consciousness and that of another," he muses, before turning and asking me: "Am I right?"

"Oui," I'm forced to admit.

"Then that may well play to our advantage. The more thoroughly Ms. D'Ancanto assumes the personality of Dr. Grey, the more Logan will trust her."

I can hardly believe I'm hearing this. My senses are burning with outrage.

"The sicker she'll get, if untreated," I fire at him.

"And the more sympathetic the target becomes."

I stare. It's a few moments before I realise that I'm fisting my hands so tight they actually hurt.

"You're really suggestin'," I level at him gruffly, "that we just leave her out there?"

He lifts his shoulders complacently.

"If your friend is as resourceful as I believe she is, she'll find a way to contact us. Besides, at the moment I really don't think we have anything to lose."

I can't help it. At that point, I completely boil over.

"I have something to lose!" I thunder. And he still doesn't rise to it.

"And what do you suggest we do, LeBeau?" he asks unsmilingly. I actually almost splutter right then. Thankfully, Jake chimes in for me.

"Can't MI13 extract her?" he questions. Wisdom's smile is faint.

"Mr. Gavin, officially, this mission does not exist. It has no case file, no staff, no resources attached to it."

"That's bullshit," Jake scoffs. "You hired a private jet to send her there. Equipped her with your own tech. I'm pretty sure that went on your resource budget."

"MI13 ostensibly sent out a third-party bodyguard to aid on a diplomatic mission," Wisdom answers evenly. "It's quite impossible to send a covert ops extraction team to what is, on the books at least, essentially a public ambassadorial convention. I could reclassify the assignment to top secret, but that would take considerable time and red tape."

I laugh, light-headed.

Anything could be happening to Anna right now, and he's talkin' fuckin' bureaucracy to me?!

"Right," I say, my voice almost wavering with pent-up rage. "Or here's a better idea. You send me in to establish contact, and I'll effect an extraction if it's needed."

And he looks at me. Gives me this wry little smile, head cocked shrewdly to one side.

"Sending you, Mr. LeBeau, would hardly be in our best interests. You, being who you are… Logan probably having 'faced with your memories already… the likelihood of him recognising you… it's far too risky."

There's a ringing in my ears that's escalating, louder and louder and tighter and tighter, pressing in on my brain, until suddenly it snaps. Before I know it, before anyone can stop me, I've crossed the room and my hand snaps round Wisdom's neck as I slam him up against the window… and it's soooo fuckin' satisfyin' t' have dis batards foutous lookin' at me like dis, caught off guard and right where I want him.

"You think I'm gonna stand by and do nothin' while I wait for your pencil pushers to cut through your fuckin' red tape?" I snarl at him. I have a tight enough grip on his neck that he's actually spluttering, but somehow dis weasel still manages to keep his composure.

"I think," he rasps back at me, "that you have far too personal a stake in this to perform your job effectively, LeBeau."

I'm literally growling at this point. Anna's on some goddamn virtuous mission that could get her killed; her mind's fucked – again; and this smooth shit is tellin' me I ain't good enough to pull off an extraction. He has no fuckin' idea.

"Remy," Jake is saying behind me, a thread of nervousness audible in the otherwise calm tenor of his voice. "You need to stop this. Now."

I ignore him. No way I can stop now. I stare Wisdom down, and he meets the gaze without even blinking.

"You're gonna get me a private flight booked, Wisdom," I seethe under my breath. "You're gonna fly me to JFK and you're gonna let me find her, goddammit."

"Or what?" he bites back.

"Or I break your goddamn neck!" I yell.

"Remy," Jake persists warningly; but for better or worse, I still ignore him.

"Mr. LeBeau," Wisdom coughs out the words one by one. "I am getting dangerously close… to calling security… on your arse."

Oh yeah. Of course dis bastard has a panic bracelet on. But I'm almost at the point of not caring. It'd be so frikkin' sweet to take this guy down a peg or two – maybe more – I ain't sure yet. All I know is, I saw Anna slip once. I'm seein' her slip again, and if she falls any further, I dunno if I can catch her. Not again.

"Remy," Jake says again – and this time he puts his hand on my shoulder. It's like I'm woken from a dream. Suddenly a course of action opens up in front of me, and I know exactly what I need to do. And this, here – it ain't helpin'.

I let go of Wisdom, and he doubles over, hands on knees, coughing and hacking and wheezing and gasping, and that alone makes all the trouble worth it.

"Get me a plane," I say to him quietly. He looks up at me, eyes red and watery, this time overtly pissed and not attempting to hide it.

"There is no way in hell you are messing with my operation, LeBeau," he spits. "I happen to have faith that Ms. D'Ancanto is far more resourceful, far more capable, than you give her credit for! Now, if, in another 24 hours, she has made no further contact, then I will consider starting the process for a potential in-house extraction. But as things now stand… Having you walk into the field and contaminate the mission – that is completely out of the question! I appreciate the personal stake you have invested in this, but I think your emotions cause you to overestimate the severity of the situation."

He's wrong. I'm certain of it in a way he'll never understand.

"You're makin' a mistake," I say quietly yet firmly. "You don't know her like I do."

"And you underestimate her, I think," he shoots back, standing once more at his full height. "Have you considered that she might find it insulting that you'd want to jump in and rescue her? When she's fully capable of rescuing herself?"

I say nothin'. He doesn't know where she came from, what she's seen, the things she's done. The pain she's been through. He doesn't know how far she can fall. And he doesn't know what I owe her.

"You won't help me help her, then?" I ask. He actually looks incensed that I'm still pushing this.

"We wait another 24 hours. You will sit tight, and in the event that I deem an extraction necessary, I will see to it."

"Fine," I say.

There's nothing more to say, and so I turn and leave.

-oOo-

Jake catches up with me outside the building, where I'm busily smoking a cigarette.

"I don't believe you!" he exclaims irately. "Do you want to forfeit your payment? 'Cos the way you're actin', Wisdom's never gonna give you back your mem-chip!"

I quirk a face at him, and dip into the inner pocket of my jacket. When I pull out the mem-chip in there, he gapes at me.

"You've already stolen your mem-chip back," he murmurs.

"Yeah," I say. "Wasn't too hard. Wisdom was an idiot to let me into his archive without security." I slip the chip back into my pocket. "The only skin I got in this game right now is Anna."

Jake's expression goes hard.

"You didn't tell me she was suffering from the bleed effect."

"Ha!" I suck in a deep drag and let it slowly spill out again. "I didn't know myself how serious it was till yesterday." I look aside, shuddering at the thought of reliving Jean Grey's memories. Anna had been kind enough to cut out the worst of it for me, but I can almost taste how it all ended for her. "That girl could be in some serious trouble if she don't get seen to quick," I mutter to myself.

"Really?" Jake asks innocently. "I mean, I had noticed she wasn't herself before she left but… I didn't know it was that serious…"

I run a hand agitatedly through my hair. I'm angry at her. Still. Everythin' I did to help cure her, to clear her mind - and now this. It's like a slap in the face. I wanted so badly for her to be whole, sane, functioning. To not be in pain. To see her begin to slide again – it hurts more than I realised. Now that she's not here, now that I can't even be assured of her safety, I feel it.

"Look," Jake begins placatingly, "I understand. You're worried about her. But Wisdom might be right. Anna's pretty darn tough. Are you sure you aren't overreacting?"

I drop my arm and shove the cigarette back into my mouth.

"Don't you start," I mutter. "Anna's tougher than me. Even I know that. But this thing here, with this Logan… it ain't just any old job to her. It's personal. And that puts her at even more risk." I pass him a sidelong glance. "I need to be there, to have her back, if it's what she wants."

What he doesn't know – and what I can't admit to him – is just how personal this is for Anna. I know exactly what's going through her mind. She was the one who stole Logan's memories, and she feels she owes him – big time. And if he finds out the truth? If he realises who she really is? Somethin' tells me he ain't gonna take it well.

"And how're you gonna deal with Logan?" Jake asks.

The cigarette's already down to the butt and I grind it out on the nearby ashtray.

"Logan I can deal with. Losin' Anna, less so."

"Losing her? That sounds a bit drastic," Jake remarks, as we start to head back towards the parking lot.

"Already nearly did, Jake. More than once. I'd prefer it if it didn't happen again." I sigh and add: "Listen. It ain't about losin' her, not really. That femme is free to walk if she wants. She owes me nothin'. But I'd prefer it if she was alive and sane enough to actually make the decision to up and leave me. Know what I'm sayin'?"

Jake's silent. He doesn't know our story, but he knows enough to realise that this isn't just me tryin' to play the whole knight in shinin' armour schtick.

"Why do I get the feeling you have something in mind?" he asks sarcastically.

"Because I backed offa Wisdom when I was seriously on the verge of decking him right outta that window," I retort casually.

"Right," he quirks an eyebrow at me. "So – what's your plan?"

I stop and turn to him.

"I need you to call your dad."

"My dad?" It takes hardly more than a second for the penny to drop. "Wait. You want him to smuggle you back into the US?"

I grin.

"Wisdom'll be just waitin' for me to board a plane, neh? But I'm assumin' Jacob Gavin Sr. can arrange an uncharted flight for me?"

He throws me a look.

"No need to call Gavin Sr., Rems."

"Why? You too 'fraid to call him? Cos' if so, I'll jes' drop him a line myself."

"Afraid?" He snorts. "Nah. I've just got a few favours I can call in back home. Y'know. Like most of us dubious types do."

He pauses a few seconds to let me appreciate just how clever he is that little bit longer.

"So," he begins with a smirk. "I'm assuming you wanna leave asap?" He flips out his phone and starts walking again, tossing over his shoulder sardonically at me: "You better start packing, LeBeau. 'Cos I'm gonna have a flight all lined up and ready for you by the time we're back at your place."

-oOo-

A thin shaft of watery sunshine wakes me up, the light spilling from a grimy sliver of window high up in the wall and onto my face.

I groan and turn my face into the grubby pillow. My head is aching, pounding between my eyes and through my temples. I close my eyes and all I see are the cold, staring eyes of Subject Zero.

The bleed effect. You're suffering from the bleed effect.

I push myself slowly upright. The room spins for a moment, then slowly rights itself. My head is throbbing, and the sense of vertigo is so strong that for a second I'm not sure where I am. It's only when I consciously reorient myself that the previous evening comes back to me in force.

Logan, I think to myself.

I let out a heavy breath and rub my face with the palms of both hands.

I'm not Jean Grey. I'm Subject Zero.

It's a half-hearted reminder. I don't feel like anyone right now.

I set aside the disconcerting thoughts and take stock of my surroundings. The room seems smaller in the morning light – and I'm surprised to see it really was a store closet at some point. The walls are lined with shelves of rusty old metal fittings and accessories, and I have to figure that, at one point, this was the domain of some maintenance guy. The bed literally fills two-thirds of the space.

I crawl off the mattress and try the handle of the door. It's locked tight.

I pause a moment, recalling the sound of the key in the lock as I'd drifted into sleep the previous night.

He doesn't trust you, I think. Of course he doesn't.

I rattle at the handle a bit more, but it doesn't budge.

"Logan!" I shout. "Logan!"

There's no answer, no sound emanating from the other side.

I sit back on my haunches and massage between my eyes. An irrational panic is beginning to rise in me, and I fight hard to stave it off. Jean Grey's memories are so visceral right now, and… I try desperately to find something to ground me.

"Anna."

I hear the voice. I look over my shoulder.

Jean Grey is sitting there on the mattress, as real as anything else in the room. I look away again, my heartbeat crashing in my chest.

"You're not real," I mutter. This is the bleed effect. Nothing about her can be real.

"Yes, I am," she replies.

Fear flashes through me. She interacting with me. Here, in the moment. While I'm awake. This isn't real. I'm still sleeping; I'm on the mattress right now, and I'm dreaming.

"You're the bleed effect," I insist through grit teeth.

There's a pause; and in that pause I inwardly sigh with relief that the hallucination is gone, but then—

"Yes. I'm the bleed effect. But that doesn't mean I'm not here."

I swing round. She's still on the bed, cross-legged, looking at me, bathed in a shaft of sunlight, her red hair halo-like.

"How is this possible?" I whisper.

She smiles.

"You can get out the room, Anna. Remember what Remy taught you."

Remy.

"Tha's it, chere," he murmurs right by my ear. "Jes' half a millimetre that-a-ways, and you'll hit the sweet spot."

I press my teeth into my tongue and let out a low little hum of concentration. I can see out the corner of my eye that he's looking at me with this smug little look on his face.

"Ughhh," I moan helplessly. "I can't… quite… get it…"

"You're doin' fine, chere," he assures me smilingly. "Jes'… right… there…"

I'm just about to give up, when I suddenly feel some of the tension give and… I glance over at Remy, and he nods, says in an approving voice, "You got it."

I touch the tension wrench and the lock effortlessly springs open.

I sit back and take in a breath I'd hardly realised I'd been holding in.

"I did it!" I breathe. Remy simply has an insufferable little grin on his face.

"Nice work, chere," he congratulates me. "We might jes' make a lockpicker of you yet."

I throw him a smirk and examine the pins in the transparent padlock I've been practicing on.

"I dunno," I reply dubiously. "It sure took a lotta work. You make it look effortless."

"Yeah, well," he answers, his breath still dangerously close to my ear. "The difference b'tween you and me is years of practice."

"I got to pick enough locks, Cajun," I remind him archly. "Most of them were digital though. Didn't much need these." I gesture to the roll of lockpicks spread out on the bed beside us.

"You ain't really picked locks till you know how to work the manual ones," he rejoins complacently. "Y'never know when it's a skill you might need. It's saved my life more'n just a few times."

"Hmm." I sit up and look at the array of picks on the comforter. "These picks all look different. So… I'm guessing there's more than one way to pick a lock?"

"Sure." He picks up the short hook I've been using. "Dis here picks each individual pin. But there are others that can pick more than one at the same time. Which means…"

"You can work a lot faster."

"Right."

He takes a pick from the selection and shows it to me. It's different to the one I'd been using – instead of a single hook, there are a row of bumps on the end.

"This is a rake. The ridges here manipulate multiple pins." He snaps the padlock shut again, slips in the tension wrench, and then the rake… and after literally five seconds of nimble fiddling, the lock snaps open again.

"You're just showing off now, Cajun," I tease him.

"Ha!" His laugh is sarcastic. "I gotta impress you somehow, chere."

"Oh, but you do," I murmur, shifting closer to him. "Every moment of every day." I raise my hands to cradle his face, thumbing the stubble on his cheeks tenderly. "So… what else do you have to teach me?" I whisper, before pulling him into a passionate kiss.

I shake myself from the recollection to find Jean gone, the bed empty. I can't trust my senses anymore. But what I do know is that the memory of him grounds me, and Jean has led me to him. The memory has seemed so far-away, like a life lived by another person… But it's given me exactly what I need. I hurriedly begin to root around in the plastic drawers on the shelves, and within a minute or so I've found what I need. It's nothing more than a couple of simple paperclips, but only a small amount of manipulation and I've fashioned some picks.

The lock to the door is old and analogue – more than enough to protect a roomful of useless, rusting parts. I concentrate on putting into practice everything I've learned. It takes me a while… but finally I feel the last pin slot into place and the lock give. I can't help a streak of triumph thread through me.

If only Remy were here to see this…

The thought returns a sense of normalcy to me, and I smile to myself, set aside my tools, and try the handle. The door opens just a crack, and I push it open wider.

Logan is nowhere to be seen – there's nothing but the whirr of a computer, the grinding of a generator.

So that's how he's powering the place.

I step into the main room and shut the door softly behind me. His laptop is still sitting on top of the pile of boxes – other than that, there's little sign of his presence. I walk up and look at the screen. I'm amazed to see it's a database – of Weapon X subjects. I'm just about to reach out and scroll through the list when I hear a noise at the front door.

"That's enough, Red. Keep yer hands to y'self and I'll let you keep 'em."

I turn slightly to see Logan in the doorway, my own gun pointed at me. There's nothing for it but to take my hand back.

"How'd you get out?" he asks, once he's satisfied I'm not going to pull anything.

"I improvised," I explain pointedly. "Isn't that what we were taught? To turn even the most innocuous of objects to our advantage?"

An ugly grin curls his lips.

"Yeah," he says. "We were."

He lowers the gun, and I allow myself to relax.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, nodding at the laptop.

His eyes narrow at the question, like he isn't used to being asked so many forward questions.

"From MI13," he finally answers. "Where else?"

"They have a database of Weapon X subjects?" I'm surprised – and a little disconcerted – to hear it.

"Kind of," he replies. "It's far from comprehensive. But they were workin' on building one, from the scraps they had." He pauses and eyes me deliberately. "You ain't on there."

I quickly rein in a small spike of anxiety.

"You scanned me last night," I say. "And you seemed pretty satisfied about who I was then."

"Yeah," he agrees. "But the scanner didn't match you to this database. It matched you to another one – Weapon X staff."

"Right," I reply quietly. "'Cos once… before they took my memories… I was staff on the project."

I fall silent – but I can still feel his gaze on me, an antagonistic intensity that threatens to eat me up.

"What do you remember?" he asks me gruffly.

"Of the time before they took away my memories?" I reply. "I remember only what I 'faced with in the chips MI13 had. I remember you. And Dr. Frost, and Dr. Haller. And… I remember Essex…"

I halt. I can't say anymore. I glance over at him instead.

"Why did MI13 have my memories?" I ask. "I was under the impression that, after Empharma HQ fell… everything that was of any value was confiscated by the NSA."

He nods.

"That's right. But what the NSA don't know is that MI13 has a mole in their ranks. They managed to siphon off some of the stuff found at the Empharma site and have it sent to the UK."

I frown.

"Why is MI13 so interested in Weapon X?" I wonder out loud.

"Power," Logan answers derisively. "The UK's been dyin' to set up a super-soldier project of its own for years, but it's never had the resources or the public backing to start one – especially not after the first iteration of the Weapon X project wound down. Nobody thought there was ever any financial gain or political advantage to be had from it. But as soon as Wisdom became Director of MI13…"

He pauses, scowling. I stare at him.

"Wisdom started the drive to open up his own super-soldier project?"

"Ha!" Logan spits aside with a grimace. "Yeah. After Empharma fell, that slick bastard figured he could fill in the vacuum Essex had left. Suddenly there was an influx of Weapon X mem-chips comin' in, and I was tasked with findin' out all the secrets they had to give up." He gives a sly smirk. "Guess they didn't figure the only secrets I'd find were my own."

"Right," I murmur softly, shuddering involuntarily.

"Anyway," he continues brusquely, "I heard what Wisdom had in mind. He'd talk about it sometimes, with his cronies, and I'd listen. Figured if he could set up his own little army, he could rent them out to warzones across the world. War makes money, y'see. And the UK's been in economic decline for decades now. Wisdom's nothin' but a grubby little capitalist; and such a good li'l patriot too. Always tryin' t'make the motherland happy."

"I don't think so," I remark quietly. "I think there's a whole lot more to Wisdom than meets the eye."

The observation interests him.

"Yeah. You might be right 'bout that. He's a sly one. Knows how to work angles. I wouldn't be surprised if he had some ulterior motive – maybe a fuckin' knighthood or somethin'. Whatever it is, it can't be anythin' good." He stops and gives me the once over, finally adding: "So what's your story, Red? How long were you with Weapon X? How'd you make it out?"

I level him a pained look.

"I made it out when Empharma fell," I say; and he whistles.

"Shit. You were there till the whole fuckin' thing came down?"

"Yes."

He looks suspicious again.

"All survivors were accounted for, according to Wisdom. You weren't on the list."

"All known survivors were accounted for," I correct him, irked – he's so damned suspicious, every time I think I'm making headway with him, he takes another step back. "I made it out by the skin of my teeth. And not without some help."

"Oh?"

I lower my eyes, say:

"That thief I was telling you about. He was there. He helped me escape." These are not lies. The memories are visceral ones – the certainty that I would die, that I was ready for it… and then his body, covering mine… the instinct to push him away, overwhelmed by something I hadn't felt in a long time – something warm and sweet and tender. And then – I must've blacked out. When I'd awoken I'd been back in Raven's medbay and the first thing I'd thought about was him. He hadn't been there and for a while, I'd feared he was dead.

I swallow.

"I should've died that day," I mutter. "Everything should've ended, right there. I was ready for it. Had been, for a long time. But, for some reason, it still wasn't my time – and he was the only reason it wasn't. And when I woke up again… I was glad to be alive. For the first time." And my voice lowers to a whisper: "I was glad to be alive."

A few beats of silence follow. I can't look at him. Perhaps this is the only truth I'll ever tell him, and… it shames me. I'm surprised when he suddenly reaches for my hand, and before I know it, he's slapped my gun back into my palm.

"Glad t'live, huh, Red?" he observes darkly. "Y'might be needin' this then. Just don't be dumb enough to lose it again."

He whisks aside, over to the laptop. His back is to me, and it suddenly occurs to me – I could take him out right now.

But – somehow – my honesty has earned his trust. And even if it hadn't, something tells me this isn't the right place or time. It's not pity I feel for him – he doesn't want it, doesn't beg for it. Nothing he does or says invites it. But there's something else. I see a kindred spirit in him – someone who's as broken as I once was. I think he sees the same in me.

I slip the gun back into its holster.

"Well, kid," he's saying. "Maybe we can help each other. I don't usually work with a partner, but I figure you might come in useful, and that we probably have the same destination in mind."

"Fort Meade, Maryland," I say. He looks back at me with a feral grin and nods.

"NSA headquarters. Our mem-chips – if they still exist – are bound to be there."

His body-language is inviting now, and I step up beside him and look down at the laptop. The database is gone, and there's now a map, showing his planned route to his destination, with several locations marked out along the way. I guess these are likely places for hunkering down and taking shelter.

"This laptop… the scanner," I ask him curiously. "Did you steal all these from MI13?"

"Where d'ya think?" he eyes me, sniffing dryly. "Had an associate who helped me out shiftin' the stuff."

He doesn't elaborate, but I guess he's talking about Marko. I look back at the map.

"If we're going to infiltrate NSA headquarters," I say, "we're going to need to know where exactly to look."

"Yeah," he agrees begrudgingly. "Been workin' on tryin' to get some blueprints of the complex for a while now, but… no dice."

"Didn't MI13's mole give that information over to Wisdom?" I query.

"Oh, I'm sure they did," Logan answers sardonically. "But if they did, I didn't manage to get a hold of it before I had to hightail it outta England. Puts me on the backfoot a bit… and I ain't no hacker." He gives me an appraising look. "You don't happen t'be, d'ya?"

I shake my head, wishing that I had my phone, and a way to contact Jake… or even Katherine.

"Sorry. No."

"Damn," he mutters, turning away again. "Thought you might be, with that fancy thing you pulled with that remote chat-box thing."

"I learned some things while I was in Weapon X," I say. "Not enough to hack into the NSA though. I'm guessing they're a pretty hard nut to crack."

"Hmph," he grunts. "Yup. Don't worry. I'll nail 'em soon. It's just a matter of time."

"And then?"

"And then we head down there and storm the fuckin' place."

I stare at him.

"Wouldn't it be better just to stealth in and out?"

And he looks round at me with this horrible, humourless grin.

"Sure. But I wanna break a few necks while I'm there. And after what you've been through, Red, I'm pretty sure you'd like to break a few too."

-oOo-

I strap myself into the white leather seat and stare out the window onto the tarmac. I've been on private planes before, but this is the nicest by far. The flight attendant has already served me wine, and handed me a complimentary satin washbag full of high-end toiletries. A bowl of refreshments – nuts and candies – sits on the table ready for me to eat. I have the entire cabin to myself.

"I hope this is satisfactory, Ms. D'Ancanto," Pete Wisdom says from the opposite seat.

"Very, thank you," I say. I regret having raised my voice to him back in his office. I feel… different now. Less highly-strung. The tremors are gone; the set-up is perfect; and I left things as good as I could with Remy. There's a calmness inside me now, the kind I'd always have before an assignment, back in Weapon X. An eerie emptiness descends. Everything is switched off and suddenly I'm on autopilot. This is familiar... And the familiarity is comforting.

"Good," he says. "I'm glad."

There's a package on the seat next to him, and he picks it up, puts it on the table between us. I watch on as he opens it up to reveal a small black case, and inside that – a gun. He takes it out, sets the case aside, and places it before me, rearranging it just so with the tips of his fingers. There it sits, blank and oh-so-perfectly streamlined.

"Protection," he says to me, with a slight smile.

I flick my gaze up to his. We both know what it's really for.

I reach out to take it, and before I do, he puts his hand on mine and I pause.

"Marie," he says softly, seriously. "If anything happens to you... If for any reason you go dark... You have 48 hours to get back in contact with us. If we don't hear from you within that timeframe... We'll assume the worst." He looks down at his hand on mine a brief moment, before raising his eyes again. "But I very much hope it won't come to that."

I say nothing; but I don't move my hand either. My heart is in my throat, his touch a mark of tenderness I'd hardly realised I needed. It seems a long time before he removes his hand, but it must've only been seconds. I slide the gun across the table and into my lap.

"Well," he says. "Hopefully we'll be able to welcome you back soon."

The flight attendant puts her head through the curtains, says: "Mr. Wisdom. We're ready for take-off."

Peter smiles faintly and gets to his feet.

"Good luck, Ms. D'Ancanto."

I watch on as he finally leaves. I slip the gun into my purse and tuck it into the pocket by my seat. There are scenarios playing out in my head… ways to assassinate this man I barely know and disappear back into the night… No one will ever find me. He's nameless – and how long will it be before he's found? He'll be just another statistic, another notch on the long, long list called 'unidentified decedents'.

But will it be what I want?

There's no answer. I stare out the window… and all I see is myself.

-oOo-